From Brooklyn, With Love
by Thorne Lockehart
Summary: She's a girl on the lam and he's the boy who just can't stay away. Finn/OC. Post-season two. Eventual M.


_You don't wanna hurt me_  
><em>But you see how deep the bullet lies<em>  
><em>Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder<em>  
><em>There's a thunder in our hearts, baby<em>  
><em>So much hate for the ones we love<em>  
><em>Tell me, we both matter, don't we?<em>_  
><em>

_If I only could make a deal with God_  
><em>And get Him to swap our places<em>

_Placebo — Running Up That Hill_

* * *

><p><em>"Samantha, I need you wake up," an urgent voice whispered in her ear and Sam jerked awake to see the wide, sleepy, bloodshot blue eyes of her father, Patrick staring at her, his hand on her shoulder. "Baby girl, we gotta go."<em>

_She bolted upright in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she looked around the tiny bedroom she'd lived in for the past twelve years. Fumbling around, she found her glasses and put them on to squint at the bright red numbers on her alarm clock. Four AM._

_"Daddy, what's going on?" she asked, falling back on her mattress. Had she taken melatonin again before she went to bed? That stuff gave her weird dreams. The last time she'd taken a dose, she'd dreamed of getting caught being Billy Mays' partner in crime in a bank robbery. _

_Now that she was a little more awake, she'd spotted the faded, beat-up red leather duffel bag in the dimly lit doorway. _

_"Did you forget to unpack from when we got back from Cincinnati?" she asked in confusion._

_"Baby girl, get dressed and pack up. We have to leave now."_

_The urgency in her father's tone flipped a switch in Samantha's brain and she slipped out of bed and stumbled to get her shoes. Her movements were robotic and fumbled as she grabbed clothes from her drawers and her closet, stuffing them in her two duffel bags. She didn't have much because she didn't need much, so packing never took her long. _

_"I'll be in the kitchen. Ten minutes," he told her. "Leave your phone and your laptop. I'm gonna go pack up Banjo."_

_Their twelve-year old Chihuahua they had adopted when Samantha was four and they had just made the move to the shoebox apartment in Brooklyn. He went everywhere with them when they were gone for a long time. Judging by the panic and fear on her normally stoic father's face, that was the case now. _

_Something was wrong. Very, very wrong._

"Miss?" The words seemed annoyed now. Sam sat up and pulled the ear-buds out of her ears and looked up at the train attendant. "Would you like something to drink?"

She felt her face flush and she shook her head. "Just water, please."

The lone train trip to Ohio from Brooklyn had taken hours and it was only three hours in. Six hours left and that didn't include other stops to pick up more passengers along the way.

It turned out her father had seen a drug deal at the garage where he worked and had reported it to the police. His boss had been a major kingpin in the drug world and now his gang was out for blood. Patrick was now in Witness Protection and she'd been sent to a tiny town in Ohio to stay with his childhood best friend and his two kids until everything had settled down.

In a span of six hours, her entire life had turned upside down. Her tie to her old life was the black and tan Chihuahua curled up on her lap. They'd changed her appearance considerably so she didn't fit his daughter's description. They were looking for a petite teenage girl with long jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes.

She took off the faded Yankees baseball to scratch at her forehead. Gone was the long, wavy jet-black hair that had only _just _gotten to the length she liked, the same hair that had once been the envy of her peers. Instead, it was to her collarbone and it colored a garnet-red; it'd been dark in the store when her father had gone to shop for it and didn't see just how dark red the color was. Her black roots showed through and with her pale complexion and dark circles under her eyes, she looked like a user. Or those Gothic chicks she used to make fun of back at her old school.

The train attendant came back with the water bottle and eyed Banjo. Samantha petted the greying fur of the dog, feeling his tail tap against her thigh.

To the people she met in Lima, she was Ellie Walsh, but to Banjo, at least, her name was Samantha Devine.

All she could do was lean her head against the window and slip in her ear-buds, thumb sliding along the wheel of her iPod to crank the familiar sounds of classic rock.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: New spin on an old favorite! I'm writing Samantha in a very different 'verse, but I hope you all like it. This little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone.**_

_**Disclaimer: I, of course, own nothing of Glee. Anything you don't recognize, I own unless otherwise stated.**_


End file.
